


Shore Leave at Cornwall

by FreshBrains



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, POV Harry, POV Merlin, Polyamory, Post-Movie(s), Recovery, Rimming, Smut Swap 2017, Underwear Kink, V-shaped polyamory, Voyeurism, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: “What did you have in mind, Merlin?” Merlin can’t see Harry’s face, but his voice is low and graveled with arousal.“I’d like Eggsy to sit his pretty arse on your mouth and ride it until he comes,” Merlin says, flicking his arm out to roll up his shirtsleeve.The room only quiets for half a second before Harry barks out a laugh and Eggsy groans.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy! I tried so many different things with this fic, and this is the outcome that seemed the most like something you'd really enjoy. These three are so fun to write. Happy Smut Swap! <3

When Harry arrives back at the house, dawn is just breaking through the morning haze, making everything cool and sweet-smelling in the late summer morning. For the first night since winter, he can see his breath fog the air as he slows to a light jog. His watch chirps, letting him know his heart is strong and his vitals are good.

J.B. is sitting in the garden, hardly noting Harry’s arrival. He snuffles at the sound of Harry’s trainers scuffling the flagstone steps. Though it is still early, Harry sees lights on in the cottage and smiles.

Merlin must be home.

There are usually signs—maybe not signs visible to the untrained eye, but Harry knows them. Flattened grass from a helicopter landing. Extra sensor lights on the door and garden shed siding, because Merlin likes to know where everyone is at all times. Perhaps a low moan and the squeak of bedsprings coming from the upstairs bedroom. But the only sign now is the kitchen light. Eggsy would _never_ be awake at such an hour on a Saturday.

Harry enters the cottage through the back, making enough noise to alert Merlin of his presence. “I suppose you haven’t put the kettle on yet,” he calls, wiping his brow with a towel.

“Fuck off,” Merlin yells back, followed by the quiet clang of a kettle landing on the stove burner. “And here I thought life on the Moors would make you loosen up a bit.” He steps out from the dim kitchen light, arms crossed over his chest, and smiles. It’s small, barely an uptick of his lips, but there’s warmth in his eyes.

“Hardly,” Harry says, smiling back. Merlin isn’t wearing his Kingsman glasses—instead, he’s got on a pair of tortoiseshell readers, making him look like a debonair, scholarly grandfather. He looks at home at their new cottage in Cornwall—somewhere cool and grey, conducive to both hiding and healing. It was technically Harry’s home, with Eggsy still living partly with his mum and sister and Merlin needed mostly at HQ, but it was _their_ space.

Merlin extends a hand, and Harry shakes it warmly. It doesn’t send frissons of pleasure down his spine or get his heart racing, not like when Eggsy leans in for a kiss or winks at him. Instead, it feels like home. He touches Merlin’s elbow through his wool sweater, then their moment of intimacy is over.

“Come look at these files,” Merlin says. “I’ll bring you a cup.”

Harry leans over the kitchen table. It’s clear and bare, only a grocery list and a dirtied breakfast plate sitting on Eggsy’s spot. “Do you prefer white or red?” The code words make the gears under the table whir audibly, and the middle of the modern oak splits open, revealing a lower compartment. The sides come down to make a slightly shorter table full of papers and notes. Harry catches the dishes just in time. “I still hate that phrase,” he says, settling into his chair. “What if we ever entertain?”

“Who are we going to entertain? Roxy? She only drinks whiskey,” Merlin says, sitting across from him. “This is an odd one. Another American.”

Harry grimaces. America hasn’t been kind to him. “Who are we sending?”

“Lancelot,” Merlin says, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “And myself.”

Harry arches an eyebrow. “Another field mission? So soon after the last?”

“You know it’s different with her,” Merlin says. Roxy is not only an ideal agent, she’s a trustworthy friend, and he hasn’t bonded with a kingsman like that in a long time. His relationship with Harry isn’t even that intimate. Their friendship is kindled by something else, something with a richer history. “She makes me want to save the world again.”

“Lofty goals,” Harry says with a smile, as if Eggsy does not do the same for him. “How much time?”

“Three days.”

“Shit,” Harry says under his breath. He’s not upset—how could he be? This is the job, and when he is fully recovered, he’ll be right back with them. That doesn’t mean he won’t miss the time he loses with his men, though. “Then I suppose we should make the most of the weekend.”

“I suppose,” Merlin agrees.

“ _You two down there_ ,” Eggsy’s voice calls from upstairs, brash and annoyed as usual. “ _You going to talk all morning or come up and give me a kiss_?”

They exchange a look, and in unison, stand and make their way upstairs. Merlin pauses midway and yells down, “A dry red sounds excellent,” and the table shuts back in on itself and locks.

*

The upstairs bedroom is awash in early morning sunlight, and Eggsy is more than ready for the day.

He kneels on the bed, facing the room, with a shit-eating grin on his face that could sell ice to an eskimo. He’s bare on the rumpled sheets except for a pair of skintight black boxer briefs. He tucks his thumbs in the waistband and arches his back, obviously showing off.

Merlin knows those boxers well, because he _bought_ them for Eggsy, sent them in a parcel with a new umbrella, two new pairs of shoes, and an appointment time for a fitting. But these boxers were the selling point.

“Now _this_ is a gift, Harry,” Eggsy preens. The waistband on the briefs reads _Icebreaker_ , a brand Merlin knows Harry has not heard of yet. “See, it’s pants _and_ a pun. Does the work for me.”

“Not my intention, I assure you,” Merlin says. He slips past Harry in the doorway and circles the bed, admiring Eggsy’s profile. “They’re not necessarily luxury brand, but close enough. Meant to be worn during intense athletic exercise.” He arches a brow at Eggsy. “Planning on a run later, pet?”

“Fuck no,” Eggsy says. “But you’re not getting me out of these. They’re soft as anything.”

“And don’t you look a sight,” Harry murmurs. He hasn’t stopped looking at Eggsy’s arse since they came upstairs. “Did you sleep in those?”

Eggsy scoffs. He reaches out, asking greedily for a kiss, which Harry delivers. “Of course not. I slept naked.” The rumpled sheets look soft and lived-in, and Merlin knows they’ll smell like Eggsy. “Come here, Harry. Merlin and I already said good morning. It’s your turn.”

“Traitor,” Harry says to Merlin. He strips off his joggers and singlet, body still flush from exercise, and though he and Harry don’t have each other the way they have Eggsy, Merlin admires Harry’s form as he slips onto the bed next to Eggsy.

“Feel them,” Eggsy says, straddling Harry’s lap. “I can wear them under the suits, too.”

“Now you can toss those awful plaid boxers you’ve worn since puberty,” Merlin says, earning a cheerful middle finger from Eggsy.

He and Harry look good together. Natural. There’s no jealousy, but there is a bit of longing on Merlin’s part. He’s had an intense history with men, has always known he prefers their touch to a woman’s, but he’s never had much luck in the long-term partner department. On the other hand, both Harry and Eggsy have always been with women before finding each other. This is all new to them, rife for exploration, while all Merlin wants is for them to know how much he adores them.

A spike of something true and possessive sparks in Merlin’s belly, and the part of him that is a kingsman jerks into the forefront, and he _wants_.

“Put your hands on Eggsy’s hips, Harry,” he says, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“You know, we _have_ done this before,” Harry says, but obeys nonetheless, fingers dimpling the soft flesh of Eggsy’s hips and arse. Eggsy is undoubtedly fit, but he’s _healthy_ , his body a master class of strength and utility and the perfect soft canvas for bites and bruises.

Eggsy shifts up on his knees, hands braced on Harry’s shoulders. When he leans down for a kiss, Merlin can hear them both inhale sharply as their cocks rub together through layers of fabric. The muscles on Eggsy’s back bunch when Harry grabs his arse and tugs him in tighter.

“Not yet,” Merlin chides. “I’ve got something else in mind.”

“So you’re running this show now?” Eggsy shoots him a hooded look over his shoulder, but he’s smiling, cheeks flushed. He’s never been good at taking instruction, but he _is_ good at trusting Merlin. And Harry—well, Harry is too content with the fact that he has both his men in one place that he’s liable to do anything either of them ask.

“What did you have in mind, Merlin?” Merlin can’t see Harry’s face, but his voice is low and graveled with arousal.

“I’d like Eggsy to sit his pretty arse on your mouth and ride it until he comes,” Merlin says, flicking his arm out to roll up his shirtsleeve.

The room only quiets for half a second before Harry barks out a laugh and Eggsy groans.

“I admire a man who knows what he wants,” Harry says. He leans up off the bed, hands roaming up Eggsy’s back to pull him close. Merlin catches a glimpse of him over Eggsy’s shoulder and shudders—Harry still retains a modicum of control and manner, but his blown pupils and tight mouth betray how badly he wants this.

This type of Harry will always scare and thrill Merlin in equal measure. He can read his old friend like a book, and right now, Harry is going in for the kill. He has known the man too long to think that is anything more than animal lust.

“If you’re going to do it, granddad,” Eggsy says, letting his voice go low and bratty as he ducks in to speak into Harry’s ear, “I suppose you should get a move on.”

Harry growls at the nickname, and before Eggsy can even get a laugh in, pulls him up by the thighs so he has to brace his hands on the headboard behind them. Harry scoots down the bed so he’s lying on his back, head elevated slightly on a pillow, and with firm arms wrapped around Eggsy’s hips, positions him to kneel over his face.

Merlin’s heart ratchets up—he’s quite glad they all have their glasses in the breadbox-safe, because nobody is allowed to see this but _him_. Harry squeezes the tempting curve of Eggsy’s arse, the sleek fabric bunching in his fist, and Eggsy and Merlin both inhale sharply. When his hand comes up and lands a sharp slap, Merlin finds himself nodding in approval as Eggsy hisses in pain.

“Get him wet,” Merlin says. He stands firm at the end of the bed and thinks about the best viewpoint for this. “Through the fabric first. Make him work for it, Haz.”

With firm hands, Harry eases Eggsy down, bidding him to relax and settle against his face. It isn’t a position unknown to the three of them, but it was usually Merlin under Eggsy, eating him out until he was a sobbing mess. Harry needed more structure, more finesse; he wanted to be able to use cock and hands and muscles, not just mouth. His buries his face in the supple black fabric, tongue lathing over Eggsy’s hole through the material.

Eggsy flushes scarlet all along his smooth back and shoulders, shuddering both into and away from the touch. “I’ll smother you,” he says, spreading his knees a bit. “Put you in a chokehold like WWE.”

“Nonsense,” Merlin says. “Let us take care of you. We know best, hm?” It’s a bit teasing, but it always works on Eggsy.

They move slowly, Eggsy wriggling his hips, not fully putting his weight down. Merlin adjusts himself in his trousers—he’s aroused, but this isn’t about him. He can take care of that later. The fabric along the crease of Eggsy’s arse darkens as Harry gets him wet, and every time he buries his face between Eggsy’s cheeks, Eggsy makes a startled noise of pleasure.

Every time Eggsy makes that noise, Harry’s toes curl, his cock jerking in his pants. Merlin knows he’ll break soon.

Finally, Harry ducks up, breathing heavily in the cool air, and snaps, “Enough of this.” Before a word can be spoken, he clutches the black fabric of Eggsy’s expensive boxer briefs and tears it clean in two, tugging the scraps of cloth away and tossing them onto the floor.

Eggsy makes a noise that could be classified as a squeal, and Merlin actually wishes he had the glasses on just for that so he could replay it again and again whenever he wanted to go rock-hard in a matter of seconds.

Harry reaches up and his elbow jerks a little. Merlin knows he’s pulling Eggsy off, giving him pleasure from all places. But Merlin doesn’t want that easy pleasure. If he’s going to be gone soon, he wants to see Eggsy work for it.

“You can do better than that,” Merlin chides, and he knows that, if anything, his mock-disappointment will only add fuel to the flame. “You’re so close. Don’t you want that friction, sweetling? To feel his stubble against your arse?”

Eggsy sighs, making the hottest little moan Merlin has ever heard, and his body slackens like warm syrup, hips twisting in a little grind. Harry makes a noise of pleasured surprise beneath him. “Fuck, you’re _obscene_ ,” Eggsy says, and if it were Harry saying the word, it would sound proper, almost posh. But out of Eggsy’s mouth, it sounds just that— _obscene_. Filthy. Laden with promise.

The bed creaks as Eggsy rolls his hips, finally allowing himself to grind back on Harry’s mouth and take his pleasure. The small of his back is curved sweetly, dappled with sweat, and there are red fingerprints where Harry clutches at his thighs. Harry goes it for it, then, the room filling with the delightful noise of smacks and slurps and Eggsy’s broken moaning.

“Perfect,” Merlin murmurs, and finally goes around the bed to see them in profile. And _oh_ , was it worth the wait.

Harry’s hair is mussed under Eggsy’s fingers, tangled and sweaty from his frantic grip. Eggsy’s cock is curved against his belly in a wet, red line, begging to be touched, and Merlin kneels with one leg on the bed and takes the poor boy in hand.

“I’m going to,” Eggsy starts, mouth open in a pink ‘o’ of shocked arousal, eyes wide like he can’t believe this kind of pleasure is possible. “Oh, fuck, I can’t—“

Harry grabs Eggsy’s hips in a firm two-handed grip and _pulls_ , pressing Eggsy flush to his mouth, and Eggsy comes in Merlin’s hand with a strangled shout, falling against the headboard. Merlin catches him in time, easing him up and off Harry’s mouth and into his arms.

Harry looks exactly like a man who has just used his mouth to bring a beautiful boy to orgasm. He inhales deeply, sucking in cool air, his eyes glassy with arousal and lack of oxygen. His lips and chin are bright red and smeared with saliva. He looks up at Merlin, chest rising and falling rapidly, and _laughs_.

Eggsy curls into Merlin’s arms, strung out and exhausted. Merlin knows he must be sore from Harry’s unshaved face, but he lets his hand wander between the boy’s legs anyways, feeling where he’s slick and wet and raw. Eggsy jolts and groans, swatting his hand away, and Harry laughs again.

“Very funny, all of this,” Eggsy says with a yawn. He’ll sleep soon, but then they’ll eat together, have tea, go for a walk. They’ll discuss the mission. They’ll probably do this all over again many times before the weekend is over. And with his best friend by his side and his boy in his arms, Merlin isn’t too worried about what the future holds.


End file.
